Hey there.

I've realized that I've never really written about myself on here, and today I just would like to say a few things.

1. I'm schizophrenic. Yes, that schizophrenic. I've battled with schizophrenia since I was a child, but I've only been diagnosed with it about 3 years ago. I also have social anxiety, depression and bipolar, which makes me have schizoaffective disorder.

Here is a link that will explain what it is;

http://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Schizoaffective-Disorder

A lot of people, especially friends are not aware of this, and yes, I seem pretty normal. It's just a mental thing, and I've struggled daily on fixing myself and fitting in, because what I'm scared of the most is standing out so much that people are intimidated by me. Because of this disorder(s), I've seen psychologists, counselors and therapists. I've stopped therapy for a year now (I think) and counseling for quite a while.

I know what you're thinking, schizophrenia, isn't that disorder linked to something else? Oh, I don't know, aggression? No, not necessarily. Though I do have a bad temper and I used to lash out to people, schizophrenia patients rarely pose harm to people or themselves. As for bipolar, having hypomania has really changed a lot to how I perceive the world. When I'm euphoric, and everything seems better, I feel more grateful towards life to the point that it becomes a sort of addiction. That's another thing that I want to write down.

2. I have addiction(s).

Apart from self-harming and overdosing, I have this bad habit of going back to smoking. I know, I know, it's bad and it's haram. But when I'm feeling extremely low, my impulses drive me back to it and I can't really help it or myself. And I've ended up at the ER countless of times now. I also just got back from there. Heh.

3. I've struggled with my sexuality.

This, I've never truly discussed with anyone, mostly because I was afraid and I'm still afraid. Struggling with sexuality does not mean that I liked girls, or that I didn't like boys, or whatever, it also means that I've grown up hating the fact that I was a girl. I don't know if that makes sense, but I always thought I was born the wrong gender. I was scared of girls pretty much my whole childhood and even now being around girls give me so much anxiety that sometimes I just avoid them. And I know it makes me seem like I hate them or something. So if I have run away from you, no, it's not that I hate you, it's me. I just have a problem or something. I don't know.

4. I had a hard time opening up.

I think the first time I've encountered this problem was when I was 15 years old and I was away from my family for the first time. I was having really bad homesickness and I couldn't talk to anybody, I mean, I was so depressed, but when I was brought to the doctor, I couldn't say anything. What did the doctor tell me? Open up. That was it, that was all, and I've been trying to be more open with my emotions and feelings ever since.

5. I have a scrict policy when it comes to my friends.

I don't know why, and I don't think I've told anyone this before, but when it comes to my friends' pictures of themselves or babies (ESPECIALLY), I just won't like them (on Facebook). I won't comment on them unless absolutely necessary. Not because I don't like them, but because I am very careful to sharing my friends' private lives with other strangers. And you know what they say, the evil eye is very real and very frightening. So if you find me not liking your posts.. you'll know why.

There are other things that I would like to put here, and I don't mean for this to be for a cry of help. No, I'm not trying to reach out, I'm not telling the internet I have issues. I'm sharing mine to tell my friends especially and others, that it's okay. It's perfectly fine, you know? So what, I'm a little crazy here and there, but aren't we all? I'm a mess, but aren't we all? I hope this makes other people feel a little normal, but I had a hard time accepting my (abnormalities)self.

Till again.

I'm dying.

"You're dying."

That was all. That was it.
I looked at the doctor, hoping for more. Why didn't she say more? That's all? I'm dying? No explanations?

I cleared my throat, rubbing the back of my head, "H-how? I feel perfectly fine." That's when my doctor started to explain, something about cancer. Cancer. I heard her, but I wasn't really listening. Not when she told me I had 3 months left, not about my treatment and all the chemotherapy. I cleared my throat again, and tried to remember what the past month had been like.

I've been tired, more so than usual. To top that, I've been having migraines, nose bleeds and blackouts. But how could I have cancer? At the age of 24? It seemed impossible. I started to ask again, but the doctor could see my denial and the way I was excessively trying to swallow and clear my throat, as if it would help the situation.

"Is there anybody who can come and take you?" She finally said, much to my relief, but it added to my anxiety. I was 24, I had no close friends, no family, no spouse. Nothing. "Jeff?" I snorted. The doctor must be kidding. There was no way I was calling him. "Unless you have someone better." I sighed deeply and shook my head quietly.

Half an hour passed as I sat in the waiting room in front of my doctor's office, waiting for the man. Jeff came, in his signature soft blue buttoned-down shirt and black slacks, meaning he came straight from his office.

"Jane?" I didn't look at him, just stood up and walked. I assumed he followed because I heard footsteps from behind and walked to the parking lot. He opened the  door for me, and instead of rebelling like I always did, I took it and got inside his car. It smelled the same citric smell, the way I liked it. "Jane," he started again, "Ms. Grey told me everything. How are you feeling?" I simply shook my head, how are you supposed to feel when you have 3 months to live? When you have cancer? I started to get choked up, and Jeff left it at that. He drove in silence, took me home and didn't call for days on end. I was starting to think that he gave up on me. Maybe he was tired of me giving him the cold shoulder for years, that he was forced to be there for me because I was simply dying. Maybe that was it.

But he showed up again a few weeks later at one of my sessions.